


He Does What He Can

by TwoCatsTailoring



Series: The Lives Within [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Politics, Throne Sex, ffxv nsfw week 2017, handjobs, mostly-dressed sex, potty-mouth regis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 02:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12695697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: When Regis has to cope with an insufferable asshat of a peer, Clarus does what any good friend would do: give him room to complain then help him relax afterwards.





	He Does What He Can

Regis shifted on the throne and glanced at Clarus Amicitia, his Shield and lifelong friend. Lifelong lover too but Regis’s self control was perfected to the point of not even allowing himself to think about Clarus (or Aulea, Astrals bring her rest, when she was alive) in the presence of others. 

It helped, that the ‘presence’ was, in this case, Lord Clutterbock. The man was without a doubt the oiliest, ugliest person Regis had ever encountered, with the most unfortunate hair - an ever expanding bald spot that his Lordship attempted vainly to disguise by sweeping the scanty strands that remained, over the top of his head. Only it never stayed and always ended up flapping with every movement of his head. 

It was hard to think about anything romantic or even pleasant when presented with such a sight.

But he had requested an audience and Regis had granted it and so they were stuck listening, yet again, to the simpering fool of a man plead with his King to close the ring-wall gates to more refugees entering the city. Usually, he was content enough to listen to the pleading and groveling with little attention, then deny the request on the spot and letting that be that. But it seemed that today, the giant sucking noise that usually made up the space where his Lordship’s brain was supposed to be, had discovered new and fascinating ways to breach even basic decorum.

“I’m sure that, if you could only see for yourself Your Majesty, the burden the refugees from the outlying regions are placing on the infrastructure and economy of your glorious city, you would agree that not only should they be prevented from continuing to enter, but that the ones here already should be removed with haste.”

Regis’s eyes snapped back to the man in front of him and felt rather than saw the sideways look that Clarus was giving him. He also felt his eyebrow creeping up his forehead and the chill of the Crystal’s magic tingle down his spine. “Is that so?”

Any human being possessing more than one braincell would have known at that point to stop talking, bow their way out of the room, and go hide under a rock for at least ten years but no one had ever accused Clutterbock of having anything so lofty as two braincells. “Indeed Your Majesty. I feel that your inattention to this matter has left you badly informed and easy prey for the liberal-minded daydreamers on your staff.”

Regis had heard enough. He’d heard enough years ago but at this point he realized the error of his ways having ever allowed this person his ear. Clutterbock was still talking when Regis raised a hand to stop him.

“Lord Clutterbock, do not think that I am as insensible as yourself when it comes to your words.” Regis paused to calm himself enough to keep his voice even. “What you have said had bordered on treason and defamation of character and I will hear it no longer. You are excused from both this room and my Presence in the future.”

The secretary who had been forced to take down all that Clutterbock had said, paused now, a small smile on his face as he stared wide-eyed at the King. Clarus called the man back to his job with a stern look and a sharp nod. Regis knew the man was a refugee himself and winced internally at the pain it must have caused him to have to take down all that was said. Regis hoped that his smile as he bent his head back to his work was an indication of his pleasure at seeing Clutterbock silenced.

A few moments more passed with Clutterbock standing stock still with his mouth hanging open.

Regis scowled deeply at the idiot in their midst and leaned forward slightly on the Throne. “That means leave. Now.”

It was only when the Lord scuttled out of the room, scraping and bowing and babbling apologies, that Regis noticed both of his Glaives, standing by the door, had their mouths pressed in such tight lines that their cheeks were going white. But he couldn’t enjoy their mirth, not now. He was far too angry to enjoy anything. 

“Leave me be. Give my apologies to those still waiting,” he said to the room at large, “Provide them with refreshment and tell them I am delayed.” Regis didn’t even register his staff and Glaive bowing and exiting in a quiet flurry of activity and it took several seethingly angry moments before he realized that Clarus had not gone with the others. 

Of course he hadn’t. He wasn’t meant to.

Once the heavy doors of the throne room were shut, Regis turned his whole body to look up at Clarus, “Can you believe...? The dry fucking cunt of humanity, Clarus. Did you see that?”

Clarus nodded dutifully, “I did, Your Majesty.” He sensed that this was going to be a profanity-laced tirade and he was prepared to agree with everything because he very likely agreed with everything.

“An absolute Astralshite of a human being. Is he even human?” Regis flopped backwards on the throne, huffing with indignation. “Probably not. Even babies have better sense and they regularly shit themselves.”

“I agree completely, Regis.”

Regis could have gone on a very long rant about how it was his duty to the people of Insomnia to use the Wall as a force for protection, how the Crystal’s magic demanded it of him even if he had been unwilling to use it as such himself. He could have railed and groused and explained all the ins and outs of his duty to the people, his duties to the Crystal, his determination to help and save everyone that he could help and save. But Clarus knew all of it already so Regis relieved his anger with insults.

“Probably doesn’t know his mother from a toilet plunger. Probably doesn’t know his face from one, either.” Regis crossed his arms over his chest and scowled as Clarus stepped to the side and leaned against the first stair post to watch him. “Hair flap falling over that bellend of a scalp of his has enough sense to try to get as far away as it can.”

Clarus snorted at that but said nothing. 

“I’ll never have that scummy bollocks in here again, not even to beg for forgiveness. I’ve half a mind to have him exiled. Out to Cligne. With those massive crab things. They’d turn him into so much mince in a week.”

Clarus chuckled again, sensing that his King was running out of steam. That was the nice thing about Regis; if you let him express himself, he didn’t stay mad long. “You could do that but it would be hard lines on Cligne.”

Regis grumbled and straightened on the throne. “I suppose you’re right. Can I exile him to Gralea?”

“I doubt it. I’m not sure that even they would take him.”

Regis rolled his eyes and sighed. He was definitely done with his venom now, though he was still shaken by the experience. He was used to the fact that the vast majority of the people in Insomnia had no idea the lengths that he went to ensure they all had access to everything they would need to prosper inside the Wall, and he was fine with that. But having just slammed up against one person who opposed him trying (even if the man was an utter arse-pustule) was not a rewarding experience. 

Clarus knew that sigh. It was the tired-of-this-job sigh and Clarus understood it. They both had a lot of jobs, and they both knew the other well enough to know when one of their many hats - or crowns - was growing too heavy or too tight. They’d not come up from childhood together to not know. Clarus stepped forward, looking into Regis’s eyes as he cupped his cheek and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. Regis leaned into his touch and closed his eyes, humming softly.

In days past, neither would have dared to take such a risk, not here of all places. But times had changed, Regis’s orders were unquestioned and right now, everyone in the Citadel knew that Regis was angry enough to empty the throne room and have his schedule cleared for the afternoon and they would stay clear. And that was all the assurance that either needed.

Clarus knew the weight of the crown well enough. He’d watched it age his friend and lover until, at five years his junior, Regis looked ten years older. Clarus kissed him again, wishing that he could ease some of that weight, wishing that he could shield the King from the responsibility, even just a little bit. But his own reality to that, was bleak. He loved Regis dearly and would gladly lay down his life for him but he was well aware he could not protect him from this.

All he could do was distract him for a while. So when he touched his lips to Regis’s and felt the pressure returned, he took that as an invitation. Gently, he nudged Regis back until he was settled comfortably against the throne and kissed him again before reaching for the buckle of his belt, hidden beneath of layers of his Royal garb. 

Regis’s breathy chuckle was encouragement enough for him and he made quick work of the belt, button and zipper of Regis’s trousers. Regis shifted again, wincing slightly as he moved his legs apart, the metal of his brace making a dull sound against the stone arm of the throne. Clarus palmed his growing bulge once, then twice before letting his fingers slip under the folds of fabric to stroke Regis’s cock. 

Regis kept his eyes on Clarus’s face, his mouth falling open at the feel of skin on skin. His hands smoothed over the pauldrons of Clarus’s robes, twisting in the hanging cloth when Clarus began to stroke his length. Their mouths met again, tongues twisting around one another and Regis rocked his hips into his touch. 

Regis frowned when Clarus dipped his head lower, his hands flying to his face, pulling him back in for another kiss. “No, Clarus. Stay with me,” he said breathlessly. “Stay right here with me.”

Clarus’s reply was cut off by another kiss, then another, and another until he was finally able to reassure Regis, “Of course.”

His touch was as intoxicating now as it had been in decades past but he was much better at controlling it now. Satisfied that Clarus wasn’t going to change what he was doing, Regis let his hands stray to the front of his pants, fumbling with the ornate buckle and losing patience with the button. They’d look for it later and Clarus’s laugh against his ear tickled, but that laugh morphed into a needy moan when Regis wrapped both hands around Clarus and began to return the favor with long, firm strokes.

Clarus braced himself with his free hand on the arm of the throne. Gods that felt good. Regis’s fingers interlocked and wrapped around his shaft, looser at the base, thumbs running along the ridge on the underside then over the slit, squeezing with more pressure at the head. Clarus picked up the pace with his own strokes, determined not to be outdone.

Regis’s breath was already coming hard, the tight pleasure building rapidly in him, skin warming, clothing feeling restrictive and unwelcome. He tried to capture Clarus’s mouth with his only to have the kiss broken too fast, their damp foreheads pressed together as they both fought for breath. Clarus’s dark eyes were warm and bright this close, his focus wavering with every stroke and Regis was blissfully lost in them. 

It did not take long. It never did when they knew exactly how to touch each other, knew just what to do and how to do it. Years of love and friendship had taught them how to please each other best. Clarus had learned that his King forgot to exhale for three breaths before he came, always hard, closing his eyes while he bit down on his lip to stay quiet. Regis knew that his Shield could wait him out, holding off his own bucking, gasping, dribbling release until he had finished and grown quiet. 

And both knew without having to say a word, that the pleasure of being held, soaking in the afterglow of their love and adoration wasn’t an option in their current location. Tidied as best they could manage, a few minutes and several more kisses later, they slipped through the panel of the passage beneath the dais that held the throne and began the long, dark trek back to Regis’s quarters to change. 

“Perhaps,” Regis mused as they walked, arms linked, along passages they knew now by memory rather than sight, “Instead of exile, I could have Clutterbock stripped of his rank.”

“You are the King. You may do as you please,” Clarus said, putting a hand over Regis’s and giving it a squeeze.

“Or,” Clarus didn’t need light to know his lover was smiling, “I could just make him think I was going to.”

Clarus laughed, “And they say the daemons are dangerous!”

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to apologize for the sappy fluffy old men. Sap and fluff are not my natural habitats and I typed most of that last part with my eyes shut. Special thanks to the best beta on the planet, [sorshania](http://sorshania.tumblr.com), for putting up with my seemingly random comma placement and TENSE ISSUES.


End file.
